Take it All Away
by HoT.aGaiNsT.a.WaLL
Summary: "Please, Spike." He begged. "Take it all away." Spander Slash. Mildly angsty. Hints of non-con.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it.

**Warning**: Slash. Inappropriate touching. Mentioned non-con. Major angst. Strong language. Adult content.

**Song listened to while writing this**: "Take it All Away" by Red.

* * *

><p>A tingling sensation ran up his spine. It was cold—biting and unpleasant. He winced at the feel of it. He cringed at the darkness he felt building up within him. Consuming him. He knew this feeling. He knew it well.<p>

He also knew that there wasn't any use fighting it. It was an unstoppable force that lived inside of him. It stirred with every movement—every smile, every laugh—it hated those things. It hated _him_. It _was_ him. It was a part of him that no one could see. He wouldn't let them see it. Wouldn't let them see behind the wit, behind the frumpy clothing, behind his happy-go-lucky façade.

His jaw clenched and he hit his head back against the brick wall. He knew this was bad and getting worse. There wasn't a way to help him. He wouldn't let them help him. It wouldn't let them help him. He felt like he deserved it. He deserved every horrid thing that came his way. He deserved their condescending looks. Their secret hatred. Who could love someone so worthless?

And that's exactly what he was. Worthless. A piece of shit on the bottom of some asshat's boot. If he could barely stand to look at himself in the morning, he could only imagine how other people felt. He could only imagine the disgust they hid from him. The mockery that obviously went on behind his back.

He groaned, tears stinging his eyes. He deserved this feeling. This black pit of endless self defecation. His hands shook as he buried them deep in his own dark hair, sliding down the alley wall with a broken sob. His body hurt. His head hurt. His heart hurt. His goddamn fucking _soul_ hurt… And he deserved every bit of what he was feeling.

Because he was worthless.


	2. Chapter 2

Spike was a fair man.

Well, if he was _actually_ still a man, he could be considered a fair man. Even as a soulless, evil beast there were lines he would never cross. Like killing little kids on Christmas. Big no-no, even for the Big Bad himself. He was a fair vampire. There was a balance that had to be upheld, and he damn well upheld it.

So, factoring in this idea of his fair vampness, there were also lines that he _would_ cross. He was fair, but he never said he was good. There were things people considered down right evil, and he was a committer of those things. He _liked_ being evil. Being bad was a _good_ thing for him. Healthy, even.

That was why, when he'd been out scrounging for a fight, and he saw that little lump of a man at the Bronze, he knew teasing was in order. Anya had just dumped him for a chaos mage that had promised her all the fine jewels she ever wanted—or some such nonsense. He'd spent all that money on a lovely apartment, only to have the bint toss it down the drain for someone with more cash. It was sick, but it had a nice bitter ring to it that he enjoyed listening to. Anything to see those big brown eyes full of suffering. Anything to just see those big brown eyes.

Anything.

He'd been watching him for a bit, looking for the best time for the mocking to begin. For the witty banter that would ensue. Hopefully for physical contact of any kind. Spike wasn't picky when it came to the one he was most infatuated with—and he certainly had it bad for Alexander Harris.

But then the whelp had gotten skittish. His dreary mood had gotten worse. He'd been puzzled for a moment because the bloke hadn't had anything to drink. There was no reason for him to have gotten that depressed in such a short amount of time. He'd seen the way his hands had started to shake and the way his face had gotten pale. It was as if Xander was bracing himself for something. As if he knew what was happening to him.

When the brunette had stood and run off, Spike had followed. He'd followed him right out into an empty, dangerous alleyway. The rank scent of depression his him hard. He'd never smelt it that fiercely on Xander before. Sure, he caught whiffs of it here and there, but it had never been this strong. It had never been this crippling.

He watched in a strange horror as his lovely human crumbled. He watched as he shook with broken, heart wrenching sobs. His own unbeating heart ached at the sight of it all. How had he missed that? How had he missed the small boy that was still hiding under his bed from his abusive father? How had he missed the all-consuming blackness in the boy's head?

He couldn't stand seeing it. With a determined look on his face, he walked forward. He was, after all, a fair vampire. And fair vampires didn't break the already broken.


	3. Chapter 3

Cold, familiar hands hauled him to his feet. He felt his world shatter just a little bit more as crystalline eyes glared into his. A cool, firm body pressed tightly to his, holding him in place against the painfully hard wall behind him. As much as he tried, he couldn't get the tears to stop falling. He couldn't put the pain away. He couldn't hide it all. Not anymore. His entire being was breaking under the force of it, and he didn't know if he would survive.

Those cold, harsh hands turned gentler. As the pale figure held him up, fingers brushed across his hair, his face, his neck. His own fists bunched up the dark material of the vampire's shirt as the sobs wracked his body. He was falling apart and splitting at the edges. He was slowly drowning in everything he'd tried to fight down his entire life. He was drowning in the nothingness that he was.

"Look at me, Harris." The voice prodded, commanding but soft. "Look at me."

"I can't. I _can't_." Xander shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut so tight, he saw stars. "Ican'tIcan'tIcan't."

"Harris—Xander, luv, _look_ at me." Spike pleaded, and he could smell the coppery tang in the air, now. The smell of the blood. Old blood and new. "Xan, pet, _please_."

Dark eyes remained shut even as Spike tipped his chin up. He was breathing hard, fast, and heavy. He was panicking and slipping—if he didn't snap out of it soon, Spike was worried that he never would. The scent of blood had his concern flying to all new highs. He was scared for Xander. He was scared to lose him before he could even have him.

"Make it stop, Spike." The young man hissed, letting his head fall back and crack harshly against the brick. "Make. It. _Stop_."

The blonde cringed, hands immediately coming up behind the boy's head to cradle it. Warm wetness met his fingers, and he knew that his boy was bleeding. That he'd been so lost in the pit inside him that pain was the only thing keeping him grounded. Brown eyes finally fluttered open as Xander realized Spike was stopping him from hurting himself. As he realized that he _had_ been hurting himself.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_," he gasped out as his ears rang. "Make it stop, Spike. I can't—"

"I've got you, luv." He reassured him. "I've got you. Not to worry, Spikey is here to make it better. Trust me, yeah?"

"Trust you as far as I can throw you," he replied, but there was no venom to it. It was a good sign.

"Good," Spike nodded before hesitantly vamping out. "Because this might be a tad odd for ya."

Xander watched through bleary eyes, as Spike bit none too gently into his own lower lip. The bumpies quickly disappeared after that, and that bloody mouth was pressed firmly to his. He jumped, squirming at the action, but he didn't pull away. Before he knew it, there was a cool tongue in his mouth, and strangely sweet blood trickling down his throat. He pulled the vampire closer, his hold still tight on the soft cotton shirt, and let his darkness hope that Spike had somehow found a way to get rid of the chip. That he was finally going to kill him. Put him out of his misery.

Their lip lock was over quickly enough. Spike had to swallow back a throaty groan at the sight of crimson on that perfect mouth, but he knew that it wasn't the time or place. He'd given Xander just enough of his own blood to make sure that the boy wouldn't have any lasting damage for whatever he'd done to himself. To make sure that his boy would make a full recovery.

"Now, step two." Spike muttered, and the dead look in Xander's eyes made him sick. "I need you to get mad at me."

"No, you don't." He whispered back. "I know you don't. You can just end. Can't you just end it?"

Spike was horrified. Is that what he thought he was doing? Killing him? A low snarl rumbled from within him, and Xander appeared hopeful.

"Please, end it," he said pitifully. Brokenly.

"Now, listen here, you tosser," Spike growled, gold eyes flashing. "That's not what we're doin'. That's not what we're _ever_ doin'. No, I wouldn't be givin' you some of my blood if I wanted you gone and dead, Xander."

Fear flashed across the brunette's face. "You can't do this to me, Spike. You can't turn me. I can't live forever feeling like this. I can't do it—I _won't_."

"Damn straight, you won't." Spike replied fiercely. "What you're gonna do is get angry. You're gonna get angry and kick the unliving _shit_ out of me. Yeah?"

"Why?" Xander asked, confusion bleeding through the black. "Why would I—"

"Because it's easier to be angry than it is to be hurtin'. I know." He said, blue gaze adamant as he pressed another, gentler kiss to the boy's lips. "Kick my arse."


	4. Chapter 4

Spike grunted as he was thrown up against his crypt wall. It had been a long way getting from the Bronze to his place, but eventually they'd made it. Xander had made. He was fuming and right pissed—but at least he wasn't drowning in himself anymore. At least he was floating long enough for Spike to get him a lifeline.

He couldn't fight back. He wouldn't have even if he could've, and Xander wasn't pulling any punches. Every bit of black and bad he felt was pouring out of him. It was beautiful and heartbreaking to see. Spike was sure that he would bruise from the slight beating he was taking, but he'd had worse. Done worse. It was all worth it for Xander.

"…And they never even goddamn _see it_!" He barked angrily, slugging Spike harshly across the jaw. "They don't care! They don't want me. I'm not _worth it_! _Why_ am I not worth it? What did I _ever_ do? Who's past life did I ruin to get this—this—this _hell_?"

Spike had known enough of Xander's life to know that he didn't deserve any of it. He didn't have anything coming to him, and yet he was always the one getting hurt. It wasn't right. It didn't make sense.

"How fucking twisted is it, huh?" He snarled, his fist landing against the wall and breaking flesh. Spike cringed. He didn't want his boy hurting himself. " I was _five_ when he—Five _fucking_ years old! How is that fair? How is it—"

Xander tried to fight of the soft, broken cry that escaped him. Spike was there in a flash, embracing him. Soothing him. Wanting to fix everything that he could and more.

Hot tears hit his shoulder as Xander buried his face against his neck. The sobs were back, breaking him down. But it was better. It was healthier. It wasn't so much a total loss of control as if was a final release. A final balm to all the past ailments.

Spike stroked his back. All of his wounds were already healing. He pulled the boy closer, letting him slump into the hold, and pressing soft kisses to his head. He would never hurt him. He would find a way to kill those who had. He would protect him with every fiber of his being if the mortal would let him.

"Spike," Xander whispered gently. Hopefully. "Take it all away. Make me… better."

"Anything, pet." Spike replied just as softly. "Anything."


	5. Chapter 5

Lips brushed lips, and they worked together in an enticing dance. It was exotic and perfect and just what the both of them needed. It was soft where needed, but firm in every other way. It was fighting and clawing, and healing and forgiving, all at the same time. It was love.

Skin was slick with sweat as hips jerked up. Low moans filled the concrete room, and neither one of them knew if it was real. It all seemed so dreamlike. So unrealistic. So fictional.

Xander whimpered as lips trailed down his throat, and the darkness that had taken him over somehow slipped away. It was banished from his very mind as cold lips warmed against his skin. Banished as a hand gripped their two slick cocks as they worked together. He held on as tight as he could, taking the ride in strides as Spike guided him through it. As Spike slowly healed him with each long, slow thrust.

It wasn't as frantic as he'd thought it might be. Spike had carried him down to his room and laid him out as if he was afraid he'd break. He'd stripped him slowly, cautiously. He'd made his mind so muddled with thoughts of Spike and sex and them—and all three together had him breathless and wanting. He clung on for dear life as their hips rolled together.

Spike bit down on Xander's neck gently, loving the mewl he received in response. He didn't know how much more he could take. He was already high on the peak of no return. He was lost in his boy and ready to claim him. He was ready to make him happy for the rest of his life—and maybe immortal life if he had his way. He was ready for anything. He would heal his boy. Make him better. Make him scream, but in the throws of passion, not pain.

"S-Spike," Xander gasped out, moaning as he arched up. "This is—Don't _stop_."

"_Never_," was growled back.

And both of them worked together, rolled together, rocked together. They climbed and climbed and _climbed_ until they were overcome. Fingers intertwined, they came, calling each other's names. Giving their hearts away without ever realizing it. It was a beginning. A newer, brighter beginning.

End.


End file.
